The Revenge of Dr Von Burpinburger (3 page)

Einstein heard the scream and ran to the window. Eric joined him just in time to see a large man flying from the top of the building on the other side of the street.

‘Oh no,' Eric cried. ‘It's them!' He gaped at the human missile. Brique was spinning head over heels through the air, thrashing his arms and kicking his legs, and screaming for help. ‘He's mad.'

‘Stupid,' Einstein agreed. ‘Loony and loopy.'

‘Unsafe, too!'

‘Risky, dodgy and downright perilous,' the mouse confirmed.

‘It just shows how desperate they are to get hold of you,' Eric said as Brique hurtled in a high arc across the sky. ‘He's going to land on our terrace!'

Frowning, Einstein stared at the flying man. He traced an arc on the window while in his head there was whirring and buzzing.

‘No,' he said, after a moment. ‘Not on the terrace. According to my calculations, he'll miss our place completely.' There was more buzzing in the mouse's head. ‘He'll miss it by 6.45 metres, give or take a few centimetres.' Einstein leapt from the window sill and ran towards the terrace. ‘Shall we see if I'm correct?'

But Einstein was
not
correct. He knew this as soon as they reached the terrace. The man in the sky was higher than the mouse had thought. And he was moving much faster.

‘Oh dear,' Einstein squeaked. ‘I'm way out.' He did some more calculations in his head. ‘He's going to fly right over us and reach the building on the
far
side!'

Eric and Einstein weren't the only ones watching. The pigeons were there, too, perched on the railing, staring up with their beaks open as the barmy Brique hurtled overhead.

‘Coo,' they all cooed.

‘Coo-razy,' Einstein agreed. ‘Coo-rackers!'

Then there was more buzzing in the mouse's head. ‘I estimate that the point of impact will be those big windows on the second floor from the top.'

‘That's the gym,' Eric cried. They could see people running and pedalling on their training machines, and others lifting weights. ‘That's the Muscle Mansion,' he added. ‘Where really tough guys train.'

‘You mean like boxers?' Einstein punched at the air. ‘And wrestlers and footballers?'

‘Yeah. Those kinds of tough guys.'

Einstein had a cheeky grin on his face. ‘They're not going to like him dropping in on their training session.'

‘Not one bit,' Eric said, shaking his head.

Everyone was gawking at the human cannonball – Eric, Einstein, all the pigeons, and even some of the tough guys on their training machines.

Brique was flinging his arms about, and screaming the most awful Bulgonian words. Then there was a deafening crash as he smashed through the window. Einstein cheered and did a jig along the terrace railing, almost toppling over the edge in excitement. The pigeons clapped their wings together.

Inside the gym, the muscle men were gathering around the intruder. Some had their hands on their hips. Others were shaking their fists.

But then, from the building behind them, Eric and Einstein heard a voice. It was the small man with the big head. He was furious.

‘That mouse is mine! Do you hear? MINE!'

Einstein jumped into Eric's top pocket at once, with only his snout and eyes peeping out.

‘It's OK,' Eric said to Einstein, and shook his fist at the man. ‘I don't know who you are,' he yelled back, ‘but just go away. Go away, or I'll, I'll …' Eric
wanted to say that his mum and dad would come over there and sort him out. But they weren't home yet – and even if they were they wouldn't be much help – so he couldn't say that.

But he did wish that someone would sort out the horrible little man.

The pigeons were rumbling and grumbling among themselves, and snapping their beaks in a clickety-clackety way at Dr von Burpinburger.

‘They're angry,' Einstein exclaimed. ‘You should hear what they're saying!'

Luke clacked his beak and squawked the loudest. Then he flapped his wings angrily and headed off. The others followed. They flew up into the air, circled the doctor, and swooped upon him, pecking and pooping like pigeons possessed. The doctor tried to fight them off, waving his arms and shouting at the birds. But in the end he had to run for cover, cursing all the way.

Eric and Einstein couldn't stop laughing.

In fact, they were laughing so much they didn't hear Mr and Mrs Wimpleby open the door and step out onto the terrace.

‘What's so funny?' Mr Wimpleby asked.

‘Oh. Umm …' Eric wasn't sure what to say. His parents didn't know about the two strange men. And he didn't really
want
them to know. Not yet, anyway. It would only complicate matters.

Actually there were lots of things Eric's parents didn't know. For a start, they thought Einstein was just an ordinary mouse. Eric had wanted to tell them that the little rodent was a genius, that he could speak and do thought-talk (‘telepathy', Einstein called it). He'd wanted to tell heaps of people. But how? No one would believe him. They'd all think he was mad.

‘Umm, it's the pigeons,' he said to his parents finally, pointing at the birds. ‘They – they've been, um, flying.'

Eric's mother wrinkled her brow. ‘Isn't that what pigeons usually do?'

‘I mean, in a funny way.' Eric grinned weakly. ‘You know, doing tricks and stuff. It was funny.'

But it didn't sound funny. And Mr and Mrs Wimpleby didn't laugh. They simply stared at their son.

‘You're not sick, are you?' his mother asked.

‘Nuh.' Eric shook his head. ‘I'm fine.'

‘That's good,' his father said, stepping closer. ‘Because your mother and I have been worried about you lately.'

‘Really?' Eric said, surprised. It had never occurred to him that his parents ever worried about him. They always seemed too busy.

‘Yes,' his father said. ‘We think you should rest a bit. A lot, actually.'

‘But I'm not tired, Dad.'

‘You need to build up your energy, though.'

‘For what?' Eric had a funny feeling this was leading somewhere. ‘What do I have to build up my energy for, Dad?'

‘Well, for any competitions that might come along. You know, quiz shows, that sort of thing.'

‘You mean like
The Big Brain Game
?'

Eric knew his father would bring that up again. When Eric had walked away from a million
dollars in the biggest TV quiz show of all, it had made headline news at the time. Eric only had to answer one more question in
The Big Brain Game
, and the money was his. And he
knew
the answer; Einstein had told him, just like he'd told him all the other answers. But Eric had made up his mind –
I have to be myself
. Einstein was the genius, not him.

‘I've told you, Dad.
Never again
. I don't ever want to go on another quiz show.'

‘But you're a smart boy,' Eric's father insisted. ‘You've got to make the most of your talents.'

‘I'm
not
smart, Dad. I'm really not.'

‘Nonsense.' Mr Wimpleby wasn't even listening. ‘There are some big quiz shows out there, with some big bucks involved.' He slapped his son on the back. ‘We'd be crazy to let that sort of money walk away in someone else's pocket, wouldn't we?'

Eric gave up. What was the point? His parents never listened. ‘Yes, Dad,' the boy nodded. ‘Crazy.'

‘Coo-razy,' Einstein whispered, and winked at Eric.

Mr Wimpleby ruffled his son's hair. ‘That's my boy. I can see a great future for all of us.'

‘I wonder what happened to him?' Einstein asked later that night. ‘The mad flying guy, I mean.'

Eric didn't answer. He was thinking. Einstein kept talking.

‘The windows would have been a real pain,' he winced. ‘And then those tough guys probably used him for a punching bag. Ouch!'

The mouse glanced sideways at Eric. The boy clearly wasn't listening.

‘Sore and sorry, that's how he'd have turned out,' Einstein continued. ‘
If I must answer my own question!
' he added loudly.

‘Sorry.' Eric was frowning about something.

‘What's wrong with you tonight?' Einstein asked.

‘I dunno.' Eric sighed. ‘Just stuff.'

‘Stuff?' Einstein's head began buzzing at once. ‘Matter, objects, bits and pieces, things.'

‘The truth is,' Eric said, ‘this genius thing doesn't suit me.'

‘What?' Einstein couldn't believe his ears. ‘Being a genius is wonderful. Marvellous, superb, tremendous! It means you know everything and you're
always
right.'

‘But it's not me. I'm not a genius at all.'

‘No one knows that.'

‘But that's the problem. Everyone thinks I'm a mega-brain when I'm nothing of the sort, and it makes me feel like a fake.' Eric took a deep breath. ‘That's why I think we should tell people.'

‘Tell people? Tell them what?'

‘That
you
are the genius and that I'm just an ordinary kid with an ordinary brain.'

‘No way!' Einstein shrieked. ‘I don't mind being special in a cute and cuddly way, but I don't want anyone finding out I'm a genius.'

‘Why not?'

‘A mouse with a mega-brain? Every scientist on
the planet would want to study me. They'd come and take me away. They'd open up my head and poke about inside it.' Einstein began shaking all over. ‘You know how much that scares me.'

The mouse stood on Eric's chest. ‘That's what those two men did to me – poked about in my head. I couldn't go through it again.'

He burrowed under the blanket. Eric heard his muffled voice, full of fear. ‘You be the genius,' Einstein begged. ‘Please.'

Eric didn't want to agree, but seeing how terrified Einstein was, he had no choice.

‘OK, OK. If that's what you want.' Eric pulled up the blankets. Einstein snuggled close. ‘Relax. Everything's fine.'

At the Cheap & Nasty Motel, a sore and sorry Tikazza Brique lay groaning in bed.

‘It can't be that bad,' Dr von Burpinburger scoffed. ‘You'll be fine in no time.'

‘I don't think so, Master,' Brique gasped. He was bandaged from head to toe like an Egyptian mummy.

‘Of course you'll be fine,' the doctor insisted, slapping his assistant on the shoulder. Brique
screamed with pain. ‘You have to be so that we can embark on my next plan,' the doctor added.

‘Your next plan, Master?'

‘Oh yes. While you've been lying on your back, I've been doing all the hard work. Plan C will be a winner for sure.'

‘Plan C?' Brique's eyes brightened at once. ‘Is that C for Cat?'

‘Why on earth would you think that?' snapped Dr von Burpinburger. ‘The C is for Capture, you fool. I would've thought that was obvious. With this plan, we will
capture
that
cunning
little
creep
for
certain
. Capeesh?'